


Out of the Valley

by yearofjohnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Mention of Mary, Parentlock, Vacation, holiday together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 17:58:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6967393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yearofjohnlock/pseuds/yearofjohnlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes back to Baker St. with baby Anna after his separation. He and Sherlock pick up where they left off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock picked up his violin again and gracefully slipped it under his chin and against his throat, raised his bow and looked out the window – John was approaching 221B from across the street. He walked in his familiar determined, arm swinging, pursed lip fashion, though now more weighed down as the past few years took some life out of the aging man. It was a lot harder to imagine what he was thinking lately, and Sherlock is reminded that he and John are in fact not one person. They live with different demons and different pasts. Of course both men think themselves the more broken of the pair.

 

* * *

 

John arrives at the door, hastily fiddling with the lock. Sherlock had insisted he keep his set of keys after John tried to return them halfheartedly around the time they were pulling his wedding together.

 

-

'New cardy then, John?' Mrs. Hudson asks cheerfully, appearing from the kitchen, as he arrives at the door. 'Suits you.'

'No, erm, jus’ buried in my dresser,' he chuckles out, clearly uncomfortable, and tugs on his maroon cardigan. 'Thanks,' he adds. Clearing his throat, he makes hesitant eye contact with Sherlock, who know flicks his eyes from John to Mrs. Hudson before blinking down at his self.

'Do excuse us Mrs. Hudson,' the taller man rumbles, somehow both solemn and with faked charm, 'John and I will need a bit of privacy.'

Used to their former domestics, Mrs. Hudson glances at the pair, still clearly cheerful that they are in the same old room together again, and exits down the stairs after a small nod.

 

-

Sherlock, patient for once in his life, waits for John – whose eyes are glued to the floor as he chews his lip – to explain why he is here. Their interactions had been a bit clunky since the last time they had a real conversation (spat).

John had been revved up from his own final days with Mary before she left. He hadn’t wanted to make it work with her in the end, not really, and as the two of them approached eight months together, things unraveled. Mary amicably and quietly left John with their child because, although he’d live a dangerous life, he’d make a much better home for her alone than the two of them – _the doctor and the assassin_ – could together. Directly following her departure from their shared flat, John left for Baker St. with Anna in her pram, and didn’t quite get the sympathy he needed from his former flatmate. 'Good.' He’d said, popping out the consonants enthusiastically.

 

So here, three weeks later, John slowly raises his gaze. 'I know what you are gonna say, you prat.'

Sherlock immediately wipes whatever traces of a smile he was wearing. 'I don’t know what you mean.'

'You knew it was coming, you knew I couldn’t possibly afford the flat for another month.'

A smile starting to stretch along his lips again, Sherlock adds, ' _of course_ I can offer you a few week’s rent…'

John looking a little hurt, then flicks his face into a confused look, 'how did you know we paid by the week?' He’s ashamed of the implications (and when John is embarrassed, he’s mad). Always impossibly charming even when he is a proper prick, Sherlock flashes John his knowing smile. John inhales, frustrated, then takes on his previous sad and deflated expression.

 

‘Obviously.’ Sherlock punctuates this with a 180 pivot and pulls his violin back up to his chin.

 

'Obviously what, Sherlock? Obviously we were paying weekly–' John is inflating again.

 

'Obviously you can move back to Baker St.' Sherlock swivels back around, never having raised his bow, and glares into John, who now tries his best to look peeved over his growing smile.

 

* * *

 

A few busy days later, John and Anna had settled in his old bedroom. Mrs. Hudson had Anna on the sofa, cooing down at her while she changed her nappy. ‘There you are, there you are,’ she chanted. Sherlock wasn’t aware John was watching him as he beamed at her from across the room. It was a beautiful sight. The whole picture of the four of them, really. Families look a lot of different ways.

‘Oh, boys!’ Mrs. Hudson said, also beaming. (Anna was very cute.) ‘Could I borrow her for a couple of days? At my age –’ she almost looked like she would well up, ‘I think you two could catch up, take a case, you know.’ She pleaded with her eyes a little, both men agreed quickly and without hesitation or even looking at one another. Mrs. Hudson was so good with her – babies always get on well with old ladies – and if she could handle what she’d seen in her younger life surely she could handle minor infant emergencies. Additionally, John and Sherlock owed Mrs. Hudson a more grateful subject for her always devoted care. They smiled at her with simultaneous recognition. Sherlock’s smile, which this time went unseen by John, was a bit more mischievous.

* * *

‘Brecon Beacons. You know it?’ Sherlock asked as they sat quietly in the kitchen for dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

Just the next day the two were on a train to Brecon Beacons, a range of hills and ridges in Wales. Mrs. Hudson had implied they needed to catch up but they didn’t have much to say on the six hour ride. John tried; he made comments about the rain on the window, how he wouldn’t mind if it was rainy for the weekend, wondered aloud if he had brought enough clothes. Sherlock, who had only stared at John while he spoke, did respond rather quickly to that comment with, ‘I’m sure you have more than enough jumpers.’

They laughed, though John felt a little insecure for a moment, until of course Sherlock returned his eyes to his, still laughing. His laugh was as warm as his gaze. John’s head was buzzing so loud he lost his hearing. It was so nice to be part of it again. To be knee to knee with his flatmate again. To have their troubles hang between them, unjudged and weightless for a while. Sherlock’s smile faded and he broke their gaze to look out the window. 

 

‘We’ll be arriving early.’ He said. 

 

‘Sherlock,’ John said into his lap, ‘I said before the wedding,’ still hesitating between phrases. Sherlock looked up, somewhat surprised to hear John bringing up the obvious before they even really began their holiday. ‘I had said it wouldn’t change anything. And it did. I know it did. And for that I’m sorry.’ The words seemed genuine but as though he’d been mulling them over for a large portion of the ride.

 

‘I knew it would change. It’s all fine. You were right, I could have called.’ Sherlock said, very unafraid to stare right into John’s eyes. So warm now that John has to look away again.

 

John was about to apologise or accept the apology or something but he stopped. ‘Yeah I actually would like to know,’ he spoke partially to himself, ‘Why don’t you accept my help? And don’t say you don’t need it. Because I know you do. _You_ know you do.’ It was coming out a bit angrier than John intended. Well, he hadn’t intended to say it all.

 

Sherlock’s bottom jaw hung, forming a reply, but not saying anything. Almost a minute later (John had gotten used to hour long pauses, so this was nothing), Sherlock said, ‘I think you know why I can’t ask you. You are often the last person I could ask,’ he pauses again, ‘and there isn’t anyone else really.’ Pause. ‘So I go it alone.’ He said the last three words with all of their consonants very punctuated, wincing after the words were spoken.  


 

John now spoke out the window, resigned and unsure how to navigate this conversation with this stubborn man. ‘You can always ask. I will always be there.’

 

Sherlock felt annoyed and patronised. But he couldn’t correct John. He also didn’t mind John’s use of the word ‘always.’ Didn’t mind at all. Sherlock didn’t know how long John was planning on staying at Baker St, but for some reason it felt so utterly forever. He hoped. They were quiet until they arrived at their rented cottage.

 

* * *

 

The holiday cottage they have for the weekend is small but gorgeous, like a completely different universe from life in London. Both men sighed, each privately pondering living in the country. They weren’t by the sea, but they felt windblown and cleansed by the entirely new air around them. The skies didn’t seem as gray as London’s and the green was so impossibly bright that it reflects their hearts back at them. 

 

‘I’m knackered, but I’d like to explore the ridge a bit.’ John said, glancing up. After sitting a long while by Sherlock sometimes he forgets how much taller he is. At the kitchen table and on the sofa and on trains and in the back of cabs. He’s always charmed when he’s reminded. John always minded being short, especially in the army, but not next to Sherlock. Being towered over is not intimidating with him, rather the opposite.

  
  


‘Love to.’ 

  
  


* * *

 

They were both kept in shape by their cases at this age (well, most recently, John supposed, by his cycling) so the hills weren’t such a tough climb from where their hired car had dropped them. 

 

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Sherlock said to interrupt their silent climbing. 

 

‘Okay… what am I thinking?’ It had been such a frequent statement of fact on Sherlock’s end for so long that John was quite sure Sherlock always knew what he was thinking. Though not as much lately. He hoped. Though, maybe he hoped otherwise. 

 

‘That we’re not doing much chatting. Much catching up.’ He laughed as if it was a joke. John laughed too.

 

They hadn’t gotten all the way to the ridge’s cliff-side but the view was spectacular from there. ‘I think this is a good spot to sit.’ And with that, John plopped down and waited for Sherlock to join him in the grass. 

 

‘It’s… adequate,’ Sherlock said, though obviously distracted by the view.

 

The pair spoke at the same time, ‘Sherlock–’ ‘John–’

 

‘You first.’ John insisted, now losing the courage he had collected in his stomach.

 

Sherlock spoke with almost uncharacteristic hesitation. ‘John, as you know, Baker St. is my home.’ John had no clue where Sherlock was going with this. He pressed on. ‘Wherever you go. I’ll still be there, should you need to come back.’ Sherlock drew in a breath much like the one he was taking between words during his speech at John’s wedding. Like he was going to be betrayed by his own honesty. He pressed on. ‘All the same, I suppose I’d come to you.’ Sherlock bit his tongue and held an uneasy grin, clearly regretting how romantic the words sounded.

 

They were kind words, but John sunk into himself at hearing them. He didn’t want to leave. Why would Sherlock think he was going to leave? They weren’t the ‘thank you’ type. A lot of their ‘thank you’s were returned deeds, this one was a silence.

 

They both stared out over the green. The sun was starting to set and, although they’d just sat down, if they didn’t start back to the cottage, they’d be caught in the fields in the dark. Neither of them budged. 

 

There it was, building up in him again. John was finding his courage to say what he always needed to say. He always told himself it was never the right time until he was telling himself it was too late and now he has his chance and his courage and 

 

‘Sherlock, I’d like to stay.’ Hmm. It felt anti-climactic. It wasn’t quite what he wished he could say. He had these feelings that had no words. No matter how he strung them together, he couldn’t say what he needed to.

 

Sherlock seemed to see that John was looking at him but not waiting for a reply yet. John continued to try to explain, ‘I’d like to stay. I don’t want to leave.’ Fuck. He was talking in circles.

 

‘Erm…’ Sherlock may have been catching on, if at least to the fact that John wasn’t saying what he needed to say.

 

He took Sherlock’s hand in the grass. ‘Anna and I are not. Ever. going to leave Baker St. without you.’ 

 

Happy recognition poured through Sherlock’s eyes and he finally curled his hand around John’s in reply.

 

If this was the only kind of love John got – Sherlock’s hand around his, Anna giggling and looking up at him – he would live forever, full.

 

Sherlock interrupted their silence again, ‘John, I offered you my home because I thought it was the sort of currency of thoughtfulness we had been operating on. But if you stay,’ he hesitated and leaned closer right before pressing his lips on John’s shoulder, ‘with me... I will go anywhere. I will be better. You deserve everything. You deserve much more than your life has given you.’ Sherlock was sobbing now. He then shot up. He shot up and budged away. 

 

‘What?’ John asked, sinking back into himself again. He was getting whiplash from his emotional guts.

‘I- I’m sorry if I-” he touched his lips and pointed vaguely to John’s shoulder, ‘misinterpreted.’ Always attempting (and often failing) to shut himself off, Sherlock had dried his face of any evidence of crying.

 

John was startled that he believed he could overstep with him. John picked up both of Sherlock’s hands in his. ‘ _I_ misinterpreted.’ He kissed his hands. ‘I hid.’ He pressed his weight up and now kneeled next to Sherlock, who released his knees from his chest to accommodate John’s closeness. ‘Even when you were gone. Even when I was gone from Baker St. It was only you.’

 

Sherlock allowed a half smile, sometimes more genuine and entirely John’s than his full smiles. Everything was for him. They were for each other in every sense.

-

It was golden for a while before it became blue around them and they decided to head back to the cottage in the valley. Sherlock stood up first, brushing away grass from his fitted trousers. He reached down his hand as he’d always done for John, as if he was saving his life. John smiled and grabbed it and, as Sherlock pulled him up with a bit too much force from the grass, John bumped against him and they almost fell over again. As Sherlock chuckled and began to apologise, John interrupted him by pressing his own smile up against Sherlock’s. How had he not thought to kiss him before when he was looking for words to say? And they kissed until it was entirely too dark to go down the hill safely. It was impossible to stop giggling. 

 

They both felt lighter. What does a past matter when you are allowed to begin again and again? The two of them genuinely wished they could get back to Baker St. sooner just to be there now and show the flat and London and everyone that it doesn’t hurt anymore, that they were the same brave men, but each with an other. And Anna. Anna will be raised in light and love. 

 

The rest of their holiday, well, blurred together.

  
  


* * *

 

Arriving back to Baker St. – arriving home – everything felt entirely new, like a new story, but the one you hoped for. It was the 221B that John imagined living in when he first saw it. With a scary stranger, taking a leap, learning to trust him. He learned quick. At this thought, John chuckled. Hearing the door open, Mrs. Hudson came out of her own flat with Anna asleep in her arms. She quietly passed her off and asked, in an almost inaudible whisper, ‘did you have a nice time?’ John replied with a big smile. She knew. She had to know. Mrs. Hudson looked back down to Anna, now in John’s arms, and pat her sleeping head, pulling back her small tuft of hair, and mouthed, ‘she was an angel.’ John and Sherlock both smiled. All three of them glowed. 

 

Sherlock grabbed the bags they had set down and they started up the stairs. When they opened the door to the flat, John was almost surprised that it all smelled the same. It all looked the same. He felt as though they had knocked down walls. Finally let air and sun in. Finally  _ dusted _ . But it was just them. How they always were. Only now they loved aloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the formatting was pleasant to read! I love writing this so much omg I'm outside looking at green green grass and beautiful hills so I had to write about Wales haha
> 
> Once again, follow me or chat me up on tumblr @ yearofjohnlock :) <3 Thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr (same username , yearofjohnlock). I make fanart and shitposts!


End file.
